Southern South Carolina Trip Log

Saturday: Controlled chaos as we brought sister-in-law and my luggage was too big for sky (roof) cap. Or the roof cap too small, as I view it.

Weather seems iffy too at least as far as high temps: 62, 71, 68, 67.... But with sun I think they’ll feel warm enough. Still, I’m wondering if late October too risky weather-wise even for south South Carolina.

West Virginia is a scenic drive. On a less figurative level than “what has Athens to do with Jerusalem?” one might ask “what has Charleston to do with Miami?” Even states, like California, seem more pluribus than unum.

I spy the Pliny Presbyterian church right next to a nudie bar next to an old farm house right out of Walton’s Mountain. All this in colorful Frazier’s Bottom, WV.

Saw a billboard advertising Dublin Irish fest in Beckley, a four hour drive. Appropriate given Appalachian mountain music has Irish roots.

Another big billboard shows a woman with a painful expression using pliers to extract her front tooth with the headline: “Let a professional do it!” A sign you wouldn’t see most places.

Quaint mountain structures along rivers conjure Rhine chalets and “Mack the Knife”.

It’s raining but the abundance of plant life testifies to the need. People flock to Vegas or L.A. deserts for the perpetual sunshine but an artificial water supply decouples rain from life, as birth control pills separate sexual pleasure from life creation.

A sign advertises for colonoscopies and I marvel at the rate of compliance for an uncomfortable test that tests positive less than 1% of the time. On the other hand, it is the third leading cancer death.

Another sign advertises “Biscuit World” and I picture patrons having an entree of biscuit with a side of biscuits. Serves all your biscuit needs and then some.

Listened to Tucker Carlson on Brian Lamb's podcast. Carlson sees the election of Trump as a cry for help, and that the big difference between elites in the 1800/1900s and elites nowadays is that back then they felt a certain amount of luck and good fortune, referring to themselves as “fortunate” and seeing a need to help others, as Carnegie did. Partially this was the influence of Christianity as well. Now elites are irreligious who think they did it all themselves and look down in remarkable ways in Trump voters, thinking their troubles are all self-inflicted and deserve no help.

Read part of book sighted in WV rest stop souvenir shop (which, belatedly, I think I should have supported and bought something). The book, written by a West Virginia native about his pet alligator, was free on Kindle.

(Later): Arrived arond 8pm and unpacked while the Buckeyes went down to ignominious defeat. Concentrated on the Buckeyes after halftime and the way they were playing it would’ve been a crime for them to have pulled it out in the end. No danger of that, as they played as suckily as I can ever recall. No discernible running game and a lax defense does not a champion make. In a way, it’s better to lose that way than to lose a close one that but for a couple plays dashes your post-season hopes - with this game, it wasn’t a couple plays, it was nearly all plays. My biggest disappointment is I wanted to see a ND-OSU playoff game but that’s not in the cards now.

Sunday: Unbeknownst to me, Steph and Marsha were up between 2 and 4am with a dog crisis. Not our dogs, but one of Marsha’s dogs at home was ill and dogsitter called saying something was very wrong with Deuteronomy. So dogsitter took Deut to the emergency room (Steph’s niece was on duty and facetime’d them) and turns out the dog has bad arthritis that somehow affected his stomach and so was given fluids and strong pain meds.

Had choice this morning between 8am and 11:15am Mass and Steph wasn’t enthusiastic about either so I headed off solo to 8am. The deacon gave the homily which was a fundraising appeal for the local high school. Same appeal last year, I guess they do it every October this week or something. He's a bit of a ham and asks the ushers for a basket during the homily and they fumble and eventually find one, bring it up to him, and he lays a $50 in it saying that leaders need to lead by example. The usher didn’t immediately withdraw the basket and the Deacon says, “What?! You want more?” and the usher scurried away. Funny. The deacon started homily by saying, “Yesterday we were in shorts and t-shirts and today I see coats. Welcome to Fall! But I think in a few days it’ll likely go back to Summer, so fear not you tourists out there.” Although even that’s relative: it’s 37 in Ohio now and 61 in Hilton Head! I’ll call that a win.

Full sun on a quiet deck in paradise. Coffee, cigar and contemplation.  What I like best about vacation is copious amounts of alcohol at night and copious amounts of coffee by day, separated by a fine cigar. That’s some marrow-suck living.

I was trying to think of the biggest environmental changes from my youth. Wetter summers, cooler springs. The invasion of Canadian geese. The near disappearance of honey bees. The lack of clover and dandelions (in our yard). Of those I think the geese are the most noticeable on a daily basis.  What’s stayed the same? Lightning bugs. Cattails around ponds. The moon looks the same as it always has.

Today’s menu involved a late trip to the beach, 2pm, after a luxurious morning on the deck. Lushed out on the empty beach, a tad cool but less so by having wind at my back. Come 4:30 I released the hounds, sending them into the tizzy of sea frolics and mad-dog gambits. By 5:15 we were back at the joint and ordered delicious pizza from Doughboys. Yum.

South Carolina's only about a month behind us. The average high in Columbus in early September is the average high in Hilton Head in mid-October. And we know late September is iffy at best in Ohio. Fort Myers is an amazing 3 1/2 months behind Ohio. The average high in December is still 77.  So Hilton Head is much more like Ohio than it is like Florida.

Monday: Max is still on workday schedule and woke us around 6:30am. Took a 2 mile walk with the dogs through Sea Pines to the Sea Pines forest preserve where I found a private trail that lead to a beautiful lake. I would’ve loved to have just camped next to that lake and read for a few hours. Spectacular sun shining on carpets of red pine needles. A gaping gator. 

Tuesday: Full cloud day, temp around 68. Brings home the fact that a vacation is a crap-shoot weather-wise. Subprime, but good church weather so headed to Communion service at 8am and it was over by 8:20. Spent a few minutes in the small but nicely appointed and furnished Eucharistic Adoration chapel. 

Come noontime Steph and Marsha wanted to take a bike ride so we went up to Lawton Stables and admired the horsies. Big Harley, the Belgian, was there. Then rode to Harbor Town and had delicious late lunch at Crazy Crab. Had tasty salad and blackened broiled grouper.

Then took the dogs on an hour run/walk to beach at 4. They were wild and I left Maris off leash as is my new tradition. She’s dependable. 

Wed: Opened up with a couple of innings of last night’s World Series and some jazz in my earbuds. Red Sox look unbeatable, a sort of super team like the Golden State Warriors or the Big Red Machine. 

It’s fun to get paid while on vacation as will happen this Friday, but it’s not fun when the stock market crashes, wiping out all the year’s gains. That’s the nature of the market: in some ways the gains feel unearned and they are also subject to being rescinded, as if you won bingo but then in a few days they can take it away from you. 

So today was lazy, capital “L”. Made it down to the beach around 11, soaked up the sun in the dunes before you get to the actual beach because the wind was 15-20mph and felt a bit chill. Later took Maris and Carly on walk with Steph & Marsha. Sunny and beautiful if cool. Read some of memoirs of a (funny) bookstore owner.  

I enpicture a cigar and drink. 

Interesting 'dote from Herodotus:

“This Candaules then of whom I speak had become passionately in love with his own wife; and having become so, he deemed that his wife was fairer by far than all other women; and thus deeming, to Gyges the son of Daskylos he used to impart as well the more weighty of his affairs as also the beauty of his wife, praising it above measure: and after no long time, since it was destined that evil should happen to Candaules, he said to Gyges as follows: "Gyges, I think that thou dost not believe me when I tell thee of the beauty of my wife, for it happens that men's ears are less apt of belief than their eyes: contrive therefore means by which thou mayest look upon her naked." But he cried aloud and said: "Master, what word of unwisdom is this which thou dost utter, bidding me look upon my mistress naked? When a woman puts off her tunic she puts off her modesty also. Moreover of old time those fair sayings have been found out by men, from which we ought to learn wisdom; and of these one is this,—that each man should look on his own...I entreat thee not to ask me to do what is unlawful to do.

The history of Herodotus 

Thurs: Cloudsome day, resolutely so, with high around 68. Too cool for beach with high wind. I looked back over last five Octobers at Hilton Head and it’s around 21-9 good weather days to bad. 70%. Come 6pm it was last shot at beach with dogs, so I rallied them and gave them one last beach hurrah and tried to video tape it with my iPhone though the action was fast and furious. 

We’re going to stay through Friday since no way do we want to drive through the rain, let alone with dogs that need to be walked at “wet-stops”. Finally slowed down enough (and de-Twittered) to do more spiritual reading. Sat on leather chair next to the front door windows, slow-sipping beers, etc... during the less than clement weather.  Slow-beer lifestyle was very nice. Then watched Life Below Zero followed by Alone finale. 

Max ended his streak of being good at night. Steph woke at 4am when she heard him thundering upstairs and peeing on the side of our bed. She went downstairs to take him out and found a pile of poop as well. She doesn’t want to bring him on vacation ever again and I told her that it’s partially on us because we could’ve crated him all night. 

Friday:  Full, long 8am mass with the saintly pastor, who mentioned an ailing Fr Bob S. who is a “real” priest, thereby casting aspersions on the average priest but probably isn’t untrue. He said Fr Bob had a horrific childhood and yet despite it became a holy man. 

Steph and Marsha went for walk on beach whilst I made myself bacon and eggs scrambled.

I never fail to be amazed at how often I take weather reports seriously. Shocked to see weather is decent, at least pre-afternoon (later: and post-2pm). Periods of sun and woke up to balmy 68, about a dozen degrees warmer than usual mornings this week. Now 75 outside and able to spend some time at beach, a rare thing this trip. 

Spent 11-1:30 at beach resting comfy till rain alert got me moving on a 2-mile run. Dogs wanted another beach visit - Max is smart enough to know which entrance is a street walk versus a beach walk (front door versus garage door) and he declined a walk until I moved to “right” door. Maris needed to go so I wanted to get two dogs done, potty-wise. Maris practiced dive bombs or fly-bys on Max, sprinting from thirty yards away and clipping Max on the ears as she went by. Max was under the constraint of the leash and was feeling the constriction. For not being big swimmers, they seem to like the (shallow) water well enough. 

Nice to see the free WSJ book of the month is the new Vietnam War history. I’d been tempted to buy it and had downloaded a sample so now looks like I’ll have it for “free”. 

Saturday: Slow boat to China today, root cause being we didn’t pack trailer night before so we didn’t shove off till 7:45 after an hour and a half of packing.  Kitchen is a time suck since there’s always a junk load of leftover groceries. There’s dog gates and dog crate and a lot to do to get to point of getting to drive 12+ hours, but the drive was easy with third driver!  (No drivers of the canine variety alas.)

Lamentations and Exaggerations

Spent hour at 11:30pm the other night trying to stop the waterfall in our basement by fitting cast-off PVC pipes and other tubes to get the water sump-pump'd into the yard at large. I'm mightily impressed by the power and ingenuity of water. The Romans have their aqueducts while we try to engineer the reverse.

I was naive to the fact that the previously opaque water removal system (I'd naively imagined it was just a sump pump and didn't much worry if it worked) turned out to be a living, breathing organism only as strong as the weakest link.  There are many potential points of failure such as:

- Sump pump location wrong
- buried water line to street on east side not working
- buried water line to street on west side not working
- city sewer backed up
- sump pump malfunctioning
- gutters not working properly

And we've experienced all of the above.


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I was planning my annual 5k race but it was cancelled due to “deep water on sidewalks”; cue the ol' "how did we ever survive as children?"

I decided to run the 5k myself since I needed a workout and I'm a big risk-taker, witness my $30 bet on Justify in the Belmont.  Got t-shirt "I Survived Deep Water on Sidewalks".

Spent a lot of time on phone trying to get answers to why we can’t get Ohio Utilities to accurately mark our back property. A fair amount of work on our end to fix their mistakes. I’m perpetually astonished at how incompetent most people are at their jobs. Lowes made a forklift delivery the other day and ran into our fence, taking out a six-inch portion.

This was all presaged by Robert Ringer in the 1970s saying that as society decays that we who stay  minimally competent we'll eventually shine by comparison. Job security.

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Mass at 8:30; had Crosier priest from the Congo; asked for donations to build a Catholic school there. Moved by the black priest’s singing, including an affecting “My Lord and My God” sung in his native tongue while lifting the Body and Blood. Unfortunately heard only about 50% of his homily due to poor acoustics and accent.

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Took in new library in town, three times bigger than previous one. Unique feature is a patio structure (all windows) that looks out over grass and trees (and nearby buildings).

The upstairs is pleasant - late day sun and comfy looking chairs. Even has a coffee bar! Not your father’s library.

Cold as ice inside, like many restaurants and some churches. Entry should have signage warning of potential frostbite. It seemed kind of humorous that they brag of sustainability and environmental things while keeping the air-co at 55.

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I'm finding it harder to take politics seriously these days given that Americans don't (witness the election of empty suit Obama and his successor). It's hard to keep a straight face watching the network news or seeing a Trump tweet. All farce all the time. No wonder Christopher Buckley can't spoof modern politics anymore.

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Spent about 90 mins trying to get our dog's hair mats out. I’m becoming highly motivated to find a groomer and take it seriously.  Who knew brushing out a dog’s coat wasn’t optional? Thes amazing thing is how quickly he came down with this - in May he looked his fine, sleek self but once he started shedding naturally it soured into mats by mid-June.

And that's the way it was, as Conkrite sayeth...


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Snippets of a 1970s Minnesota memoir, dedicated to my fellow Cincinnatian Cat:

...children would punch in 5318008 [on calculators] and turn it upside down to reveal BOOBIES.

Sister Mariella, whom some call Sister Carl Eller, after the Vikings’ fearsome defensive end.

Silence is the safest way to get along, which is all I desire. In life, as in games of tag, I never want to be It. I only want to be Not It.

“We don’t wear [newly bought] shoes out of the store,” Mom whispers. “We’re not hillbillies.”

As for Mom, she grew up in Cincinnati, evidently fearful that hordes of hillbillies would wade—straw-hatted, barefooted, bib-overalled—across the Ohio River and into her backyard. This might explain Mom’s endless cleaning, the neatening of drawers, the discarding of anything that isn’t nailed down.

Her rectitude and naïveté were instantly on display in her fourth-grade classroom in the mid-1950s. Students lined up for recess in front of the chalkboard, and when the line marched out of the room, there was often a single word scrawled on that board. She would erase it, and the word would reappear the next day. After a week, my future mom finally asked the class, “Why does someone keep writing ‘Pussy’ on the board?” The children gasped and giggled. Mom pressed on. “Is Pussy somebody’s cat?” There was more giggling, and a girl raised her hand. “Miss Boyle,” she said. “That’s something a lady has.” This only confirmed Miss Boyle’s notion that Pussy was indeed a cat, and she let the matter rest, but not before telling my future dad, who palmed his face in disbelief.


Mom hadn’t wanted to move from Cincinnati, where Dad first took a job with 3M, to Columbus, Ohio, to which Mickey Mining dispatched him and where Jim was born. She hadn’t wanted to move at 3M’s behest from Ohio

Through all these moves, she held fast to the polestar of Cincinnati: to Graeter’s ice cream and Ohio State football and the Big Red Machine of Johnny Bench and Pete Rose.

Mom says “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph” or “God bless it” when she’s angry. These are stand-ins for profanity. She says “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph” instead of “Jesus Christ” and “God bless it” instead of “God dammit.” It’s a clever bit of Catholic alchemy, turning blasphemy into praise.

This same sense of relief supervenes whenever the commercials air during NBC’s annual Easter-season screening of The Wizard of Oz, a movie that instills no wonder in me, only terror. The music alone ignites the acids in my stomach, exhaling only when the commercials abruptly appear. They act like smelling salts or a bucket of cold water thrown over a drunk, snapping us out of one world and returning us to the real one. I am grateful for their temporary respite from tornadoes and witches and flying monkeys.

Exploring South Brook by backyard or bicycle, I develop an expert knowledge of the neighborhood topography, whose yard I cannot enter to retrieve a ball (the Sea Hags, the two elderly ladies we seldom see) and in whose house I should decline the milk (the Sundems serve skim, and my body is accustomed to the higher-octane 2 percent). The Redmonds have central air—stepping across their threshold is like stepping into a refrigerated boxcar—and the Raichs have a basement beer-can collection. The McCarthy boys are allowed to collect pop cans, while the Rushin boys are allowed neither.

Young life holds few pleasures greater than the school sick day. The hourly ministrations of Vick’s VapoRub, the back of Mom’s hand on my hot forehead, the thermometer jutting from my mouth like a Chesterfield cigarette...

[Or snow day.] And then I hear it: “Bloomington schools, public and parochial—closed.” Instantly it’s Mardi Gras and V-E Day and the Lindbergh parade all in one, and the flakes falling outside look like ticker tape.

Obligatory Hilton Head Trip Loggish

Sayonara, summer.

Saturday:  Off to Hilton Head! With dogs in tow - Max restless early and often. “Paced” in his seat, and was omni-alert. Luckily not much squeaking from him.

Listened to Brian Lamb interview Gorbachev biographer William Taubman. Man those C-Span interviews are like no other. Interesting, informative and never cloying. Lamb “wears well”.

11 hrs 45 min ride due to longish stops (Steph briefly lost trying to find bathroom in outdoor mall) and later Wendy’s drivethru was dog-slow. Within five minutes of arrival Max left a steaming dump on the wood floor, and Maris returned the favor with a dump in the upstairs bedroom. Oh joy. This despite having walked them several times along the way, including giving Max an opportunity just 30 minutes before getting to the house. Go figure.

Sunday:

No 9:30 Mass due it no longer being summer, so planned on 11:15. Let Max out of crate and within a minute he peed in three places (two downstairs and one upstairs). Needless to say he’s been keyed up and highly charged. Practically feral, with the manners of a black bear. Took him and Maris out for a walk, obviously closing the barn door after the horse was out.

Nice walk on warm, cloudy day around ritzy neighbor and then to beach. “Moody and atmospheric” is my best spin on the weather. Sometimes the weatherman is right. Got the gates up to keep the dogs secure on the back patio and pool area. Noise from pool filter is loud; “harmless white noise” is my best spin on it.

Love the look of that tall white book case that handsomely wraps around the corner. There’s something so gentlemanly about a tall bookcase with a sliding ladder. This room helped inspire our sunroom decor, both in the white shelving and the blue art objects.

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Much entertained by Maris’s obsession with getting into the pool. She wanted to so much but was afraid, and so she circled it a couple dozen times and eventually made the big leap and got in the first step (about three inches in depth). Eventually she graduated to the second step, about a foot and a half in depth. Baby steps for "baby danger".

Later ran three miles with the dogs down through Sea Pines. Saw a couple gators, one a baby we scared away. Biker came by and said, “Looks like you’re working a lot harder than they are” and I verily assented.

Monday:

Woke up middle of the night with bad sore throat, probably due to a/c chill combined with fan. Hard jog likely contributed. Turned fan off and took zicam and it helped; by morning less pain. And I have an excuse for no workout today.

Total noise this morning.  Pool pump, and then noise pollution in form of neighbors spray-washing their fence. Used a lot of ear protection and going outside almost a non-starter.

Later, sweet relief by 3:30pm. The neighbor’s motorized spray-washing is long over and just now I cut the electrical supply to the pool filter via outdoor breaker (not sure what other electricity I cut off) and silence, sweet silence reigns. What a difference! I feel empowered. Like I freed up a lot of previously unusable space and made this place our own. I feel like the owner the week and given the actual owner didn’t offer to do anything in response to my email, it’s a no-brainer. And it’s good for him since now I don’t have to give him a negative review, although wifi so pathetic it’s bathetic. Have to reboot the router nightly.

The brief afternoon sun gave way to clouds and eventually spitting rain. We called up Hilton Head delivery service (“Hilton Head Delivers” I think) and through them ordered off the Black Marlin restaurant menu. Oh. so. good. Came promptly in 45 minutes: the most delectable bread, steak, baked potato, salad and chicken bites. And that was just for me. Steph got a fish dinner. Dang it was good to get some good quality food in me given the incipient cold virus. Read some of history of Nantucket in book on the tragedy of the 19th century whaler Essex.

Tuesday:

Coolish morn, 60 degrees, at least when coupled with the common cold. Remarkably susceptible to colds this year for reasons that escape. Perhaps not enough germ-killing beer on Saturday. I’m guessing I had it then sans symptoms (the latter came late Sunday afternoon). Made it to 8am mass despite leaving at 8:02. Got there in time for first reading - they really are maximalist at Holy Family, starting mass with Angelus and prayers for vocations. 45 minute weekday mass!

Then an earthly divine breakfast: French toast (the only worthwhile thing besides fries and wines they gave us, ha), bacon, cereal, orange juice. Feed a cold.

Lazy time extended infinitely. “King” chair next to front door is ridiculously comfortable, so I read and slept there. Amazed by the richness of the Cardinal Sarah book on silence. It reads like lectia divina. Made it out in the “quiet forest” (back deck) by noon for a cigar. Took dogs on walk past some multi-million dollar homes, then looked them up online to see pictures of interior.

Max has been 100% better today and yesterday. Really calmed down, maybe in part due to long run I gave him Sunday afternoon.  First full sun day; normally we’d have a day and a half of sun under our belt by now. But today was forecast as cloudy so we’re fortunate. 73 and sunny here now, 53 and cloudy in C-bus. I’d take that trade all day.

So a goodly beach time, 1:30 till 4:30; from 4:30 till 5:30 I unleashed the hounds - picked up Maris and Max and they frolicked the beach scene for ten minutes - on the walk back they actually pooped in unison, which was a first.

Read more of Essex story, some National Review. Really great day despite the head cold. When you’re just laying around reading, a virus (short of fever) doesn’t impede much. And I did a ton of laying around. I can feel my fitness level diminishing.

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Only two days left already, Wed and Thurs given we’re thinking of rolling on Friday morning. Five day vacation is pretty decent length, and there’s the big benefit of having some decompression time at home before back to work.

(Later): Steph cooked up a delicious late dinner of spaghetti and fake meatballs, only they weren’t fake. They were as real as meatballs can be. Vegetarianism never tasted so good. Also had salad and Brussels sprouts. And they say nothing good ever came from Brussels - fake news!

I think it’s really hard for Steph to go from 100mph to 0mph in terms of busyness.

Wednesday:

Much easier night of sleep due to the cold breaking up already. Seems like it really helped to just take two complete days off workout-wise. Now the trick is not to overdo the next workout and re-ignite it.

Great hunger to read.  Got some wisdom literature, more Cardinal Sarah, more Russell Kirk biography. Reading is best part of this vacation.

This morning was cool and loud: 53 degrees (60 now, at 11am). Leaf-blower man destroyed the peace for an hour. Not exactly a monastic retreat, ha.

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Reading Steph’s book Y in the Workplace. A couple of interesting quotes:

“Work ethic needs to be judged relative to a generation and a culture not relative to the way another generation was raised. Work ethic is developed from the upbringing, lifestyle, and the cultural pulse of a generation...The philosophies between Boomers and Gen Y in the workplace are clearly different and clearly influenced by the differences in child-rearing philosophies and school philosophies established in each generation… Every generation develops their idea of what work is based on the reaction and experiences of those who raised them. Gen Y learned that working hard, long hours and saving your money leads to getting laid off or not being able to retire due to the stock market crash of 2008 or the loss of all of your hard-earned money when your company filed for bankruptcy... So to sum up the formula that Gen Y witnessed: work hard + work hard + be obedient + save money = get screwed… Gen Y has shown us that work still gets done when integrated into life, rather than when it is forced into the confines of a 9 to 5 work day that supposedly creates ‘balance’... Perhaps if more of us adopted this philosophy, the zombie-like culture of the overworked, stressed out, and irritable would benefit."

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Interesting quotes from article in Catholic mag:

“I [visited] Gaudí’s La Sagrada Familia in Barcelona. Gaudí, Benedict XVI said at that very spot in 2010, “accomplished one of the most important tasks of our times: overcoming the division between human consciousness and Christian consciousness, between living in this temporal world and being open to eternal life, between the beauty of things and God as beauty.” 

And from Russell Kirk biography concerning Ray Bradbury:

“ [Bradbury said in a letter] each person hides ‘a private keep somewhere in the upper part of the head, where from time to time, of midnights, the beast can be heard raving... To control that, to the end of life, to stay contemplative, sane, good humored is our entire work, in the midst of the cities that tempt us to inhumanity, and passions that threaten to drive through the skin with invisible spikes.’ Clearly, a Stoic speaking to a Stoic.”

“Not just the ‘greatest science fiction writer in the world,’ Kirk claimed, Bradbury is ‘a master of style and of the high ancient art of parable and allegory.’ He made it a point to buy and read every single one of Bradbury’s books, believing the author possessed a singular power to demonstrate that ‘grim truths are lovely.’ 

Wow, surely that’s what we need these days, to make “grim truths lovely.”

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This neighborhood is sweet. I love walking the path to the ocean past the rapturous multi-million dollar homes. One of the houses on rents for $10k a week. And I much enjoy the jungle foliage of the place; some of the palm fronds remind me nostalgically of Gilligan’s Island.

Thursday:

I checked my Yahoo account and got a blast email from Bai M., the abandoned spouse of Bud M., and I thought about how this case feels like mercy versus justice and how hard it feels to square the two.

I checked out Bud’s site and he has two new posts up, one about how he has found time to exercise in smaller increments (12-15 minutes) and recommends that to busy folks. The other is how he quit smoking after 30+ years via reading a book on how to quit smoking painlessly. But the post was far more self-revealing than that, talking about how he hasn’t gone to a big Catholic media event in 13 years (since the divorce perhaps, which he doesn’t mention) and how he finally went to this year’s. How he began going to daily Mass 13-years ago during “a time of trouble” (again the divorce). How he was at Medjugorje in 1987 and asked the visionary to answer his plea to stop smoking and it was answered 30 years later only after he had given his full trust and assent to the veracity of the apparition.

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A lady remarked to me after church how chilly it was but that it was “refreshing” after so much recent “heat and humidity”. Drats.

The problem with the last day of vacation is that it gets really hard to suspend disbelief that you won’t be here forever.

I was taken by the fact there’s a 360-400 year old oak tree, perhaps planted by Native Americans, here in Sea Pines. So I headed out on bike and think I found it in Six Oaks park inside Six Oaks cemetery near the stables. It was shrouded with Spanish moss - is that why Low Country cemeteries look creepy, because the moss looks like shrouds? Or maybe like big living cobwebs?

Anyway, amazing to think of something so old and yet alive. The pines and live oaks of Hilton Head too oft get overshadowed by the beach and sunshine.

And taken again by surprise by how starry the skies look here. Definitely not used to so many star lights at night.

(I suspect I could read Dick and Jane in these soaring natural surroundings of Hilton Head and find it a delightfully lyrical caper... Context matters: except to dentists perhaps, beautiful teeth on a pretty girl provoke a different reaction than beautiful teeth on a skeleton.)

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Shocked to hear one of my favorite TV journalists, Mark Halperin, has allegations that he groped women and pressed his member against female co-workers. Shocking inasmuch as he always seems so under control, so un-slaved to appetites. It looks like his problem years for this was ‘95 to ‘05, or when he was 30 to 40 years old.

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Got to thinking about how early memories can be so elusive.

The Ebbs of Memory
The blue light of the bug zapper
Near a lake - or not
There was music - or not
On a black summer night.
The creosote scent of a timbered hall
George Washington slept here (or not)
History smelt of creosote and
Looked of long old planks
With knots and notches and iron fixings.
Memory melts into the imagination and back.


Thirst
They had a drive-in, not for movies,
But you parked your car
Near trays attached to swinging bars
And a waitress appeared and you ordered
Root beers or lemonades in frosted mugs
That looked to hold five or six ounces
With a good pour, in my mind’s eye
And never before or since have I longed for anything more than a second root beer
On a sweaty day when I was nine.

City Envy
The city next door had old world grace
But no prophet is welcome in his own land.
There was an ancient Tower called “Power house”,
Medieval stone bridges ovalled
Over a grand Rhine river.
They had a store just for cigars,
A dam, century-old churches,
A library named Lane (but not on a Lane Avenue).
They had biblical floods while
our road’s sewer overflowed,
They had a gallant soldier atop a courtly courthouse,
We had a Mac’s steakhouse.
They had trains and German towns,
Restaurants and ghostly haunts,
Winding roads and scary slums
But we, alas, lived in Fairfield...

Friday:

So we left our place a day early; we were on pace for a long while for 7:15pm finish but made it back by 8:30 due to a stop at beloved Camp Creek. Steph got emotional there, spurred by memories of taking Buddy right after his cancer operation.

It was just otherworldly beautiful - I’d wanted to get home but glad Steph prodded me to do it. Well worth the half-hour or more to walk down to the waterfall. Dogs had a ball, at one point climbing a sheer wall of dirt like it was nothing - it looked like about a 75 degree angle. Scampered up after some wildlife and then came down the eight feet or so, fortunately not hurting themselves. It’s the coming down that worries.

The dogs were giddy with the return and if there’s ever a chance to see who can run faster it’s as they’re released after a trip. Maximum speed to the fence-line. Maris lit out and Max second since they couldn’t exit door at same time. Max gained on Maris eventually but I’m not sure that’s because Maris wasn’t slowing down as she entered area close to fence.

Saturday:

Back in Hilliard, a snowy morning, big flakes like a long girl’s lashes falling like tufted graces. I feel the earthly lift of being in the familiar.

From novelist Joan Didion:

“I grew up in a dangerous landscape. I think people are more affected than they know by landscapes and weather. Sacramento was a very extreme place. It was very flat, flatter than most people can imagine, and I still favor flat horizons. The weather in Sacramento was as extreme as the landscape. There were two rivers, and these rivers would flood in the winter and run dry in the summer. Winter was cold rain and tulle fog. Summer was 100 degrees, 105 degrees, 110 degrees. Those extremes affect the way you deal with the world. It so happens that if you're a writer the extremes show up. They don't if you sell insurance.”

Seven Quick Takes, as Inspired by Jennifer Fulwiler

Visited the Columbus Museum of Art and showed off my newly purchased CMA membership which allowed free entree into said establishment and free Russian exhibition. It was larger than I expected, rooms full of art and photos from the old Soviet Union, mainly 1970 through 1993. Another world it 'twas. I especially wished I'd have snapped a pic of a homely group next to the Cyrllic letters of a billboard outside a bar. So, so foreign. Instead took a pic of a painting of Lenin as Jesus Christ with the legend: "The Anti-Christ".

*

I'm noticing a subprime sun length, like Trump's fingers, these days.  By the time I get home walk the dogs, water the grass, and eat, the sun is on the downward spiral. Like Trump ten minutes after the election.

I still find it slightly incredible that his war with the media began literally the day after the election, over crowd size.

Still, they can't take election night away from him or Republicans. For one brief shining moment Hillary was defeated and there was a glimmer of hope that Trump might sober up and fly right. I would pay good money for a DVD of the election night coverage, to see again the crestfallen faces of the liberal anchors and pundits, to experience again the "Do You Believe in Miracles?" Al Michaels moment. The biggest underdog in the history of underdogs won the election. Unfortunately, it looks like that was the high water mark of his presidency. Or un-presidency.

Possibly voters will learn from the Trump experience that politics and policies ain't so easy, and that there's no such thing as a free lunch. It seems like it could be damaging to a potential Bernie Sanders run given people might - *might* - be more in contact with reality. Not holding my breath since the Savior Obama should've already sent that message. You'd think after Obama people would want experience and competence, like a John Kasich.....

*

One of the things I most crave about retirement is sucking in the savor of summer. Nowadays it's hit or miss - mostly miss. Not even a Shakespeare play at the park. Wicked fast went the past two months. A blur. The antithesis of lazy days drinking lemonade on a hammock.

So for healing purposes took a German Village bike ride on the visually dulcet day. Had a hot dog and donut at the wonderfully Teutonic Jeurgens .

I rode down south to "Hungarian Village" (a village I knew not existed in Columbus), then off to the Parsons Avenue borderlands. Danger Will Robinson.

*

I've been pondering the words from Genesis 3, regarding the fall, on the nature of the apple and how Christ became that apple. It's almost like a perverse/reverse Communion in Gen 3:6:

"So when the woman saw that the tree was good for food, and that it was a delight to the eyes, and that the tree was to be desired to make one wise, she took of its fruit and ate; and she also gave some to her husband, who was with her, and he ate."

Jesus became the apple in that he is a delight to our spiritual eyes and makes us spiritually wise. Then Eve shared the food, shades of "take this, Adam, and eat of it...".

*

Decided to hit home for lunch because of the big celestial show, the eclipse.  With eclipses, I think there's the scarcity principle at work. If peanut butter was scarce, everyone would crave it. I think a partial eclipse is like a limited edition modern artwork - few would want it except that it's rare and assigned value by many. But skepticism aside, I wanted to give it a good try.

By 1:30 it was already starting to occlude but no visible difference in sun. By 2pm, it's darkened, like before you get a rainstorm. When you look through the protective glasses you see partial sun, making it appear similar to a partial moon.

Sunlover that I am, I'm not necessarily a fan of any celestial object getting between me and the sun. Mostly I'm coming away shocked that the moon can cover 85% of the sun and the power of the latter is still enough to see things outdoors easily.

God-willing I'll see the total eclipse in 7 years. 

*

Spent an hour last night watching Raymond Arroyo's fine interview with Jerry Lewis on YouTube. Lewis called Raymond the best interviewer he's ever had, which is saying something. He said Arroyo actually listens, and that's what sets him apart.

Very touching interview that made me feel small given the largeness of the comic's spirit. When asked why his endless toiling for MDA telethon, he said simply that that was the only way to raise that kind of money. Shades of be careful what you're good at, because then you'll be irreplaceable more or less.

His work ethic was tremendous. My slothful thought is that a comedian can "phone it in" since no one lives or dies during a show, but Lewis was cannier than me. God recognizes the last shall be first; perhaps the comedians before the surgeons. Arroyo mentioned how healing laughter can be, and Lewis mentioned how after a show a lady was crying, and Lewis admitted her to his dressing room, and she said that his show was the first time she'd laughed in 7 years, since her son was killed in Vietnam. And he was bowled over and remembered that every time he wanted to do less than his all. He said out of a crowd of hundreds there are always 4 or 5 individuals who need his gift. Very moving.

I suspect part of Arroyo's gift as an interviewer and his ability to connect with Lewis was the fact they are simpatico spiritually, both more evolved than the average joe or jane.

*

On a day offering a perfect blend of summer and fall, the sort of day presaging new beginnings, of college day move-ins during those eventful early '80s years, we gathered at the funeral home for a death in the family.

The song "Magic" by Olivia Newton-John came to my mind unbidden. "Have to believe we are magic" she sings, and indeed we have to believe we are magical beings in the sense of having everlasting life with future fairytale bodies. A good reminder during a time of sorrow. 

A Day in the Life

Friday: A "get 'er done" day fraught with wall-to-wall speed programming. Gosh these programming emergencies feel exhausting and today was just nonstop fun and excitement.

After work dropped off wrong-sized shorts at UPS, as delivered yesterday. I'm starting to think when you order sizes they take it as a "nice to have". As in, "it'd be nice to deliver him a XL but he'll settle for a medium". Second time that's happened in the past month.

Then off to pick up more of that daily bread called beer.

Back home took dogs on their customary 7-minute constitutional. (It only feels like 20 mins.) No rabbits were harmed during this interlude.

Finally my time: The rich rigatoni repast of recliner. I watched some baseball, a brainless enough change activity. Then the sweet mercy of having food delivered via amazon.com/restaurants. This time Rusty Bucket, a good fish dinner, suggested tip was $5 and no delivery fee. Nice.

Finally the Presanctified Byzantine liturgy at the Eastern church I favor. The inertia factor seems to increase every year but I was bound and determined to do this (and, hopefully, the Stations of the Cross).  It's like I'm trying to keep up with my past self.  Forty-five minute round trip. But the liturgy worked its magic and re-centered me.

Later I thought about how I meant to ask Dylan for what emotions he feels when he hears the tune "When I Ruled the World" by ColdPlay. Specifically not about the lyrics, but the song tune itself. It seems ineffably sad, combined with a wistfulness.  Later, after having heard the lyrics clearly it's no wonder it's a downer of a song, to put it mildly - the singer is expressing his damnation ("I know St Peter won't let me in"). Seems a case where the lyrics match the tune in terms of the emotions evoked.

Saturday: Ah, let the healing begin. The morning began grumpily, as I was in severe reading and coffee deficit. A bit of tension over my wife's concern over my overfeeding the dogs - both are slightly overweight. I kept thinking that feeding the dogs ain't so easy since bending over ain't that easy at 53 and three quarters.

Slept in till after 8am on the strength of an important repetitive morning dream: I had discovered via a google popularity search that the phrase "leader of the free world" was used often in 2008 with Obama, but not in '16 with Trump. This was a miscarriage of justice, another case of liberal bias. A few hours after waking I figured I go through the motions and check the search term popularity and it spiked majorly (or bigly) just after Trump was elected. The opposite of what my dream foretold. Likely because pundits were sarcastically offering, "this guy is the leader of the free world?"

But by 10am I was satisfying my drought by consuming the latest National Review. It was a good issue, with a dense retrospective of a visit to Jerusalem by Richard Brookhiser, a sobering look at how Chuck Berry's invention of rock and roll changed us all, pieces on Calexit and the French elections, and a review of the Ignatius Press history book on the bishops of New York City.

From the article on Chuck Berry:

The electrification of the id at a young age doomed students to an impoverished spiritual and intellectual life, [Allan] Bloom believed: “Rock music provides premature ecstasy and, in this respect, is like the drugs with which it is allied.”

A culture influenced by rock is fundamentally different — more individualistic, more pleasure-centered, more rebellious — from what prevailed before 1955.... We live in the lyrical and spiritual universe of the Chuck Berry song.

Ain't it the truth. "We ain't delinquents, we're misunderstood" goes the West Side Story lyric, or in this case, "We ain't delinquents, we just listened to rock growing up."

Friend Ron had sent me the book Infidel by Ayaan Hirsi Ali and I'd put off looking at it since it seemed to me a statement of the obvious: that Islam is greatly flawed and so let's read about someone with an axe to grind about it. I was prepared to tell him that I was more interested in the genesis of Islam than it's current often malicious execution. But when Ron asked if I'd read it, I felt the call to at least start it. And it's surprisingly engaging and well-written. Read it for an hour or two after an early Outback dinner. No wonder it's a best-seller. I should know that bestsellers don't get that way by accident.

Steph left this evening for, of all things, a weight-lifting conference in Dayton which features the author of a book she's reading on strength training. Aaron is the evangelist here - he told her about the author and asked her to come to Dayton with him and two of his lifting buddies. (An interesting foursome.) Aaron never does anything half-assed, be it his job, child-begetting, or physical training. When he was into running, he had to run a marathon. Similarly now in workouts, he's dedicated to the nth degree. Plus three kids in this day and age is probably equal to 5 in 1950. (Somewhere the Hodges are laughing.) He's definitely not of a phlegmatic constitution.

So Steph will be gone from 5 till at least 11pm. Bachelorizing tonight.

I appear to be on a book buying jag. Fourteen for the month of March; almost one every other day, yikes. I guess it's in case there's a book famine.

Fortunately ten were $2-$4, so it's understandable. The pricier selections include the Dominican Sisters' Manual of Marian Devotion (impulse buy because it was 40% off on St. Benedict day) and Fantasy Life, because it's a baseball picture book that followed minor leaguers along their journey, which is like crack cocaine to me. Those two were about $45.  Ideally I could just stop buying right now for a couple years just read what I have to my heart's content. But somehow I think I won't do that. At the very least I can just buy the $2-3 offerings. These books are like rabbits, reproducing endlessly. Which reminds me of the Jonah Goldberg funny about dog-walking:

But now because the foul, oh-so-hoppy scent of bunnies is everywhere, leash walks take an eternity. She has developed a basset-like obsession with olfactory investigation.

Speaking of which, I took the dogs on this overcast Columbus (pardon the redundancy) day to the local park near the senior center. It's a place I'd taken Maris many a time when she was a puppy but never Max. So now Maris got to introduce Max to this particular park. It was uneventful till the end when I decided stupidly to go off the path, onto the grass near the forest, where of course I ended up falling on the slickness and landing on my backside in a mile-long puddle. It rained 25 inches yesterday, so grasslands have become tricky-to-identify swamps. My back pocket held my iPhone, and I was nervous for awhile I'd ruined it by getting it too wet. It got plenty wet, but apparently not too wet.

Ye Hilton Head of Yore

Saturday:

Wow. As I told Steph when I saw this place, "Who needs a beach when you have a place like this?" It's a pleasure dome, with 10ft high built-in bookshelves with a ladder. I'm a complete sucker for libraries with a stepladder. Maybe it's the painting The Bookworm, or maybe just the symbolism of it, a library so big it needs a stilt.  I clambered up the ladder minute ten and picked up a book.

The dogs went crazy in the house when we arrived; they raced up and down and over and out like it was a racetrack. I took them for an immediate walk in the dark without "production", so when Max got back in the house he immediately pooped.  Then later we found Maris had pooped in a room upstairs. So goes life with dogs.

The rugs here are beautiful, especially when juxtaposed with the fine wood floors. I hope I'm not so shallow as to be swayed by mere rugs....but I could be. Plus there's just something about an A-frame cathedral ceiling to add interest.

Turned on the Buckeyes - it's 12-7 at halftime, and watched what looks like final game of Dodger-Cub playoff with Cubs in command at 5-nothing. Looks like it's going to be an Indians-Cubs World Series, which seems about as an unlikely a pair as one could come up with given their respective histories. Nice to see.

Sunday:

Beautiful day, 68 degrees, full sun. Chainsaws sound in the distance, clearing the aftereffects of Hurricane Matthew.

The sun pixilates on the deep green foliage - from the tropical bushes to the pines and palms to the oaks and "ghost grass", Spanish moss. This house is set in a forest, smack dab in it, but with an incomplete canopy that affords a decent amount of sun. More than I thought we'd get this far from the beach.

It's funny that the song "Dixie" was written by a New Yorker looking out a dreary rainy window. "I wish I was in Dixie," echoed in his head he said, and thus one of the most famous Civil War songs was inspired by the weather. The funny thing is how it took off originally in the North just before the War then caught fire as the Southern anthem as the states seceded. I can say honestly I'm glad to be in Dixie.

The houses here are tight-close but the woodland makes it less obvious. The "yard" is postage stamp-sized, but with the natural feel akin to German Village.

Speaking of postage stamps, there's a print inside the house featuring an old stamp of Ben Franklin from the early 1900s and it reminds me of my youth when I briefly collected stamps just like that one. Funny how something like that can take you back, just the mere sight of it. Maybe that's the point of vacation pictures and souvenirs and collections in general: nostalgia. I suspect that collectors who didn't start their collections when young are few and far between. Certainly the whole baseball card collecting craze was a nostalgia play.

After Mass & grocery, took Max on a beach run while Steph walked Maris. Saw the most dolphins I'd ever seen - about a dozen close to shore and one showed his head above the water. Magical.

Full sun and uncrowded beach. Did about thirty minutes on the run and then we put the dogs on long 30ft leashes and let them roam free. They water-frolicked a bit and sniffed clumps of sea debris.

Monday:

High noon at the beach. Generous sun, and I feel grateful for this week though at the same time recognize there's no safety net after this - just relentless winter.

But that's tomorrow and I assume tomorrow will take care of itself. Just now I have the ocean for a footstool and I'm drunk on sun. I'm sure glad we pushed this to last week of October given the hurricane as well as how nectar-sweet the weather is at this late date. I've pushed the season back a week: it's 56 and cloudy in Ohio and 74 and sunny here. Good trade.

I always felt October too soon for a "winter vacation" but it's not terrible from a sun view.  As nice as this Hilton Head deck and house are, nothing is as relaxing as the beach instant relaxation recipe: sun and jazz. I nod off for ten minutes and waken with the tide a foot away.

Going to the ocean is a time-honored activity. Melville wrote 150 years ago in Moby Dick:

"[Ask yourself] Why did the poor poet of Tennessee, upon suddenly receiving two handfuls of silver, deliberate whether to buy a coat, which he badly needed, or invest his money in a pedestrian trip to Rockaway Beach?"

Heard a big kerplunk this morning and went out to find doggie Maris had fallen into the pool and could not get out, despite steps a foot away. So I helped fish her out. We suspect Max "helped" knock her in by delivering a body blow.

Tuesday:

Nothing could be finer than to eat at my own diner in the mooorning! And so I did, making French surrender toast and crisp bacon (achieved by leaving in microwave an extra minute).

2+ hours of music yesterday! Ready for some classical this morning thanks to pleasant "on hold" music of cable company.

(Later) Ended up staying 3 hours at the beach. Much enjoying the "quiet forest" that is our deck amid the dappled jungle. A couple of big trees stick out of the deck via big squares cut out of it.

So civilized, this time here, civilized in terms of weather and civilized in terms of leisure. I should call this trip log The Daily Cigar, for thus has been my habit. Steph came up with a grand idea for lunch: bean burgers cooked on the outdoor grill. Man they were tasty. Painless vegetarianism. The slight char of the grill on the burgers combined with blue cheese dressing and tomato slices and lettuce on a bun - yum.

The beauty of this setup is I finally get to stay at a place in Hilton Head set amid forest and thus have the best of both worlds: sea by day and forest by dusk and dawn. A fine mix, and having such a beautiful house to come back to makes coming back from beach early today a relief due to wind.

*

Come 4pm we take the dogs for their sea walk. About a mile only all told; 7 minute walk to the beach and then they scamper to and fro. They do three miles while we do one. Come 5pm we're back in the friendly confines and relaxation is heaped upon relaxation: I continue my cigar and have a beer.

Reading-wise, I enjoyed some of Alexander Hamilton's Guide to Life. A light biography of the ultimate overachiever. Of the Founding Fathers I've read heavily on John Adams, some on Thomas Jefferson, and little on George Washington or Alexander Hamilton or James Madison. Good to read about Hamilton given I was born in the town he was named after.

This place as so many cozy writing nooks. I want to explore them all, sit in each and feel all writerly while I enjoy the frisson of "travel" (defined narrowly). I sample the bar today and the entrance way lounge chair. Their motto is let no small area next to a window go unexploited sitting-wise.

Wednesday:

The dogs are of late treating dry dog food as a decorative item: "Oh cute, he's putting out food to let potential visitors know dogs live here."

Nice walk on beach to jazz. A mile or so, just enough to get a rhythm going. Later dug some classical; Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake hit the spot. Back-to-back days of 2-hour concerts. Followed up with 30 pages of the light Hamilton biography.

A symphony of sun / Even as I run-- / Time binds us all / Begotten of the Fall.

Took dogs on run thru Sea Pines and then did same thing on a more relaxing bike ride. There's just something about those thick pines on the trail that invites wonder.

Then more Alexander Hamilton, whose life invites a kind of wonder as well.

Purgatory is one of those subjects I try to avoid with a ten foot pole. I'm allergic to it the same way I'm allergic to the idea of opening my new house to the poor and homeless. But when the Medjugorje message guy sent an email with the latest visionary message, he included a link to a "must read" book from an Austrian visionary who is said to talk to souls in Purgatory. I downloaded a sample and have to admit it makes for compelling reading. Who knows if it's true; I've given up trying to even make that call. One small mark of authenticity, for me, is when she said God "sends" no one to Purgatory but souls elect to go there on their own in order to be more pleasing to God. This makes a certain amount of sense given the sudden clarity the afterlife brings, you'd think people might well volunteer to change in light of that light. They could long for their own self-improvement.

And yet as much as I don't like the subject, I do feel sort of cleansed just reading it. It momentarily realigns priorities and gives one relief from the "burdens" that really aren't burdens at all, like the thought I'll be going a loooong time after this without a vacation...

'Round 5pm I figured it was time to round up the cattle, I mean dogs, and so I took a beauty walk past the loblolly pines and gracious mansions and leashed the dogs and they forced-marched me like Sherman to the sea. Maris has the long line but Steph adds to the retractable leash such that she's never truly free. I let Max go but he trotted down the beach like a sled dog and stopped (fortunately) to greet a couple sitting on the beach. They held Max by the collar while I hurry-jogged to collect him.

By 6pm we're back in our lovely haunts. The time expresses, like a fast train; there's nothing quite like that gilded time, 11am to 1pm, when all the leaves are as glossy as Mae West lipstick.

(Later): Spectacular meal tonight. Steph bought fresh grouper - pricey ($25) but oh so good. Cooked it on the grill and it just melted in your mouth. I'm starting to think that fresh fish is to "normal" fish as fresh tomatoes are to store-bought - it's almost like it's a different fruit or meat. Adding to the delight was freshly mashed potatoes and green beans.

Thursday:

Listening now to Holst's Jupiter in front of the ocean. The music seems to fit this sea as much as the distant planet. Which makes sense, both being colossals.

Reminds me of that nature show where they just let cameras run in remote South American village or something. Sunrise Earth on Discovery. 

The membrane between the present and past fades on vacations and maybe it was on a day like today Papa took me home from school. Funny how persistent it is in memory - perhaps because it was rare. No wonder most Christians fail to see the Eucharist for who it is - we're jaded by His ubiquity.

Read some Hamilton bio. A lustful cad he was; Abigail Adams called him the very devil and of a highly lascivious nature. And doesn't "lascivious" sound like what it means?

Rested till about 4:30 when I brought the hellions down where they raised hell. Max got a burr stuck in his butt so Steph doctored him up. Max later stepped down into a sea hole and went under water, looking none-too-pleased. Held his ear at ninety degrees trying to get water out. He's not too much the water dog although he obliges me when I get in with him.

Friday:

Our last day, alas!

From Keith Mano novel I'm reading presently:

"Flames and moving water settle me - they're images of the holy spirit because they can envelope. There is no shape, no matter how odd or recalcitrant, they can't lap around."

Caressed shoreline with my soles. Feel full up and ready for the work grind again. Steph said she felt bored in beginning, wondering what she was going to do all week, but that dissipated when the rhythms of sea and relaxation began to predominate and she relaxed.

Tide coming on in: The clean uncluttered look of packed sand and simple sea.

Driftwood from Hurricane Matthew look like turds in the sand.

Images of a Trip

It's like a wake-up from a dream to a dream whenever I get up and open the slatted blinds - like theatrical curtains - to reveal the mood-altering vista of swaying palms and rolling sea.

It's Hilton Head time again and we made the drive in what must be the record time, time made enjoyable in part by the inestimably great Brian Lamb interviewing the inestimably great historian James Robertson, biographer of the inestimably great Gen'l Stonewall Jackson. That's just as good as C-Span gets.

Just now, via the magic of modern technology, I belatedly watched the wunderkind-swimmer Ledecke swim by herself for over half her 800 meter race, looking for all the world like Secretariat at the Belmont. Racing against herself without competition against the best of the world. Incredible.

I then check the WaPo and read an inspiring article about a woman with warts all over her body due to a long-term illness and her body. She learned to love herself despite it, with help of brain injury!

First “fun activity” of the afternoon was a needed run, a purgative thirty minutes on the beach followed by a heady half-hour bike along the dappled Hilton paths. Lushness personified, the trees are covered in vines and look like tall green papier-mâché men. As I age I notice I appreciate dappled light more, such as was found on the ride.

Day 2:

Another interstellarly awesome weather day, though hot as pancakes. “Feels like 99 degrees” offers the weather website. Gust sea air, gust like the wind!

I drop in on the beach at high noon and spend an hour while jazz plays.  A wide expanse of beach courtesy high tide. Slight sheen of sweat combined with wind provides relief.  Life in a Corona commercial.

Day 3:

Another bright shining morning as if fresh from a heavenly assembly line. Resolutely sunny and warm, 82 degrees at 7:45.

I leisured breakfast - phoned it in - by just making cereal and eating some cheese danish. My that danish was good. Who said the Danes have given us nothing by violent Vikings?

Read indoors and out, erring slightly with too much political news. Lunch back at the condo and then more reading – historical fiction written from the perspective of Thomas Jefferson's daughter. I'm learning more about Jefferson, how deep his depression after his wife Martha died after ten years of marriage. And of his temper.

I certainly had no idea Jefferson was so emotional. Jefferson, Adams, and Washington all had tempers and emotional storms.

*

"O whale! the mad fiend himself is after ye! blow your trump—blister your lungs!“  –Moby Dick

Yes, blow that Trump!

And in the novel, Melville mentions how they were desperately seeking the whale:

"Ah! how they still strove through that infinite blue-ness to seek out the thing that might destroy them!”

Melting Scripture today:

Consider how Christ endured such opposition from sinners, in order that you may not grow weary and lose heart.

And I thought of how that must be our attitude towards ourselves, that though we endure such opposition from ourselves and our sins, Christ endured ours so so must we.

The psalm at Mass was 23: “there is nothing I shall want”. I generally read this as a promise of God not leaving us in lack, but I could turn it around and say there is “nothing I shall crave” in lieu of Him.

*

Looking at the home IP camera I see the dogs looking out the window and think, surely falsely, that they are waiting for us. And that makes me miss them.

Good day was had by all - lunch at 2pm (frozen pizza and ham) and jambalaya at 7.

How scientifically illiterate be my wife and me? Enough to wonder why the moon causes ocean tides. Doesn't seem like that should be in the lunar job description. But then I always liked math and English and not science.

Steph at Walmart now picking up an open-sided tent. Wants to pitch one on beach for shade purposes. Makes sense given that it is blistering hot down here this time.

Day 4:

The water is the warmest I've ever seen it - bath water warm. It can't even cool your core temp because it's at your core temp.

Timing wise this has been sweet: rainy and cloudy in Cloudumbus while sunny and mild here. Plus I admit to not being crestfallen that Saturday, had we'd been home, we'd be helping someone move. God never gives more than we can handle.

I retrieved a portable speaker and put on some jazz as alternative programming to “cell phone lady”, the woman we so named who bitches loudly about work and people at work on her cell at the beach. Obviously we pitched our tent in a bad neighborhood.

I'd like to go on a historic tour of nearby Beauford but Steph seems rather satisfied just crashing here and why not?

Last night gave us time to walk a moon-and-starlit beach. It was a scene of otherworldly wonder: the full moon shining on the water, the clouds lit up all over the huge sky. Very dramatic, and lends a sense of the smallness and insignificance of man, including Trump & Shrillary. A good antidote for self-seriousness.

Today is the anniversary of Black Elk's death, a Lakota medicine man and warrior who survived Wounded Knee. From a meditation:

"In 1892 Black Elk married a Christian woman, and their three children were baptized. In 1904, after his wife’s death, Black Elk himself became a Catholic, taking the name Nicholas. Eventually he became a catechist and traveled widely, spreading the Catholic faith."

He was also devoted to "the rosary, Mass, and offered powerful preaching on scriptural passages”.

A former commissioner of Indian Affairs said that Black Elk had something within him, religious strength, that the world has lost and “must have again, lest it die.”

*

We lazily let the day slip from the bonds of the azure sky, letting 10am morph into 4pm with only a half-hour walk in between. As Herr Trump would say, a low energy day.

Day 5

"What a lovely day again! were it a new-made world, and made for a summer-house to the angels, and this morning the first of its throwing open to them, a fairer day could not dawn upon that world." –Moby Dick

Today did a thirty minute run followed by almost hour walk. 5.3 miles covered in da blazing heat. Yesterday went in the water for a very brief respite and received a jellyfish bite on my foot.

At night we we picked up some Mexican food at Fiesta Fresh (picture of St. John Paul II in their shop!) and enjoyed a late dinner at home.

Day 6

Cloudy finale down here; chance of thunderstorms later. Well we've had a great run of great days. Superabundant sun with no rain from Sunday through Thursday - five consecutive days.

Lazy morning after Mass - three hours of reading tweets and eating breakfast, drinking coffee. 12:42pm and it feels like the day just started.

(Later) Well surprisingly (not!) the weatherman was wrong - sun galore. And I relished the long traditional ride to Grant market and beyond. Just 13 mile ride - I could've done a lot more - but the last day of beach was calling and I had the capital idea (if sorely belated) of just walking farther in order to get to a private beach front.

I rode under the pine trees and past the golf course. Listened to country music and Dan Fogelberg. Bought peaches and a tomato at the ma pa shop. I admired the sheer lushness of landscape.

From Fogelberg, love these last two lines:

   "Born in the valley
    And raised in the trees
    Of Western Kentucky
    On wobbly knees
    With mama beside you
    To help you along
    You'll soon be a-growin' up strong
    Oh, the long lazy mornings
    In pastures of green
    The sun on your withers
    The wind in your mane"

*

EPILOGUE: I'm regretting my sunburn but it was almost totally unavoidable given how I put enough sun protectant on to cover ten samurai warriors for a month in Rio.